If you really knew him
by Darth Krande
Summary: Besany Wennen visits Fi Skirata in the hospital... and saves his sanity at the cost of everyone else's. AU. Reviews would be loved!


One more RepComm AU with a character going in-character to save time and complications. At least, in the hindsight...

 **If you really knew him**

The blonde walked the Republic Central Medcenter's immaculate corridors with confidence. Her luggage might have gathered some unwanted attention as she maneuvered the repulsorlift handtruck around the corners, but she managed gracefully.

"May I help you, Ma'am?"

She couldn't tell the function or the type of the droid in front of her, but as long as it was wearing the neurology unit's markings, it could probably be of good use to her.

"I'd like to see Fi Skirata. He was brought in approximately five hours ago with a concussion."

The droid gave the unusual cargo a suspicious look, then directed her to level eleven, third corridor, eighth room. The small pistol she was carrying went completely unnoted. Maybe it was a usual addition to hospital visitors, Besany mused. She thanked the droid, and moved her luggage towards the indicated room.

Once there, she rested a caring hand on the impassive commando's forehead. He was so calm now, so placid, so alarmingly quiet.

"Hi, Fi" said she. "Look what I have borrowed from the Treasury for you."

She swallowed back a grunt at the memory. She put her hand on the handtruck's contents claiming it would be for the benefit of valuable Republic property, which was true, but at the same time, she was also ashamed to have said this. Necessity, she reminded herself.

She opened the first compartment, one that stored a data processing unit of some sort, and an amplifier she plugged into the nearest receptacle. With relief, she noted that at least the commando was not on life support anymore.

Next she unfolded a pair of loudspeakers, one of which she positioned on the nightstand, the other, on the chair on the opposite side of the wounded soldier's bed. Each of them was larger than the pillow under the evenly breathing commando's head. Finally, she took the remote control from the bottom of the parcel, and activated the newly setup system.

"Everywhere I read about brain damage" whispered she, "I found music can be a great healing factor. Mereel informed me that you like glimmik, so that's what I brought for you."

She pressed the play button, then placed the remote control next to Fi's inert right hand.

The music was grandiose and gripping, although maybe a little too rough for her taste. Under other conditions she might have considered it more of a noise. How could anyone enjoy this?

But this was not about her taste, this time. This was about a wounded hero, who also happened to be Ordo's brother. It was the least she could do. And wasn't this the right choice? Just in the middle of the third track, Besany would've sworn Fi's eyelids stirred to the rhythm.

She considered the trooper's helmet for a moment. Etain had told her that she tried on another clones' helm earlier in the war, and she heard faint singing on the common channel. Surely these two advanced loudspeakers did more justice to this type of noise/music than the small, built-in radio. When was the last time Fi could enjoy his choice of entertainment in real quality? Maybe never. Never before.

Just before the fourth track would have ended, Besany was certain she wasn't just seeing things. Fi's head was moving left and right, perfectly following the beat of the song. She didn't want to speak too early, but apparently the young commando was on the way of recovery.

"I don't know how much you can hear right now" (perhaps nothing, in that loud buzz, she thought) "but I'm certain Kal Skirata will be proud of his boy."

Was that a shade of a smug smile?

But no. Maybe this time, she was really just imagining things.

She sat on the bed, the commando's broad shoulder under her hand. She couldn't decide if the clone had sensed her presence at all, but as she remembered being told, they were nary alone in their life. Besides, she had to guard the loudspeakers, as stated in her job description.

"Here's the remote, just in case" still she said, after a while. Fi's fingers moved to feel out the buttons, which wasn't a bad feat for someone officially declared braindead.

Then Fi found the 'volume up' button.

For one more minute, Besany Wennen heroically stayed in the hospital room, hoping Ordo didn't inherit that same taste in loud music, but when the still unconscious clone tuned the volume up even higher, she decided to go and ask a doctor about the prognosis,, instead of staying further. Preferably, she would find one on the other floors of the building, as these private rooms didn't seem to have a very good isolation.

"Take care, Fi." She was sure he would.

For whatever reason, the corridors seemed all abandoned, with only nurse-droids carrying away patients, as if following some evacuation protocol. She finally managed to get a doctor, but he couldn't hear what she was saying (those damned loudspeakers were _good_ ) and when she repeated her question bellowing, she couldn't make out his reply no matter how loud he yelled straight into her ears.

She made a good escape out of the hospital building, along with other visitors, the medical staff, and the patients lucky enough to be evacuated in time.

The first thing she heard that wasn't glimmik, was a Bith doctor's comment to his assistants.

"This noise is going to drive me crazy, and I bet I'll not be the only one."

Behind everyone's back, in the center of loudly beating glimmik music, Fi Skirata was getting better and better.

* * *

Just two days after the Treasury Division's worker visited a damaged and unconscious trooper, the Hesperidium Wing was refashioned to suit important patients who were coming in abundance. The mind-blowing volume of glimmik took its toll from all around Coruscant's elite quarters. Just recently, no less than the Supreme Chancellor had been brought in, under the delusion that he was some Dark Lord who was born to cleanse the Galaxy from the Republic.

On the bed next to him, a small, green figure was trying to plug his own ears by folding his own enormous earflaps. When someone neared him, the tiny one lamented, always the same sentence:

"Underestimated the clones, I have."


End file.
